Pinpricks
by The Lonely Black Cat
Summary: Sherlock was bored. What else is new? Poor John suffers the consequences. Possibly a collection of drabble, it may take a while to get it going. No Johnlock, not really. Rated T just in case.
1. Pinpricks

**Hello! So this is my first fanfic ever, so please be nice. Sherlock and John may not be in character and it may just suck over all, but like I said, first fanfic ever. Thank you for reading!**

**-Cemari**

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Sherlock was bored. Simple as that. He had finally abandoned the pass time of chucking kitchen knives into a tattered picture of Mycroft on the wall and was now plucking madly at his violin strings, hoping for an intriguing tune. He instantly became bored with that, too. His mind wandered off, picking up small details and enlarging them in his mind to analyze and compare. Finally, he grabbed another nicotine patch from the coffee table, reaching past his inclined feet that rested on a few of John's coasters. Feet.

John sipped his coffee. He smiled at the lady sitting across from him, "So, you've read my blog?"

John was having a lovely date. The sun was shining, there was a slight breeze, but very slight. He had to say that it was nice to be away from Sherlock, though he couldn't really remember why he had wanted to leave the flat. Nevertheless, he felt completely stress free. He sat in front of a small café with his date, not caring to give Sherlock another thought.

"Yes, it's quite riveting and entertaining." She replied. She has nice hair, he thought. Indeed, her hair was shoulder-length, black spiraling curls. She had light green eyes and wore a subtle red lipstick. He was just about to take another sip of coffee as she was about to continue the conversation when John felt a unforgiving prick on the sole of his right foot. He slammed the coffee mug on the table with a yelp. His drink splashed on the woman and she shrieked.

"Oh, my apologies! I'm so sorry, let me get you some towles." He blurted, just as he felt another prick at the top of his big toe. "Ouch! What the-?"

The young woman stared wildly at John for a moment, as he felt around his shoes, and then grabbed her purse hurridly, "John, it's been great, but I really need to be going-" she started making her way across the street.

"No, please wait!" John made his way after her, but another prick to the heel caused his knee to buckle. Suddenly, out of no where a taxi turned onto the street, making its way towards John and then-

"Bawha!" John woke up, lurching forward and panting. Back at the flat...It was a dream. A somewhat twisted and revolting dream, but still, just a dream. He gave a sigh of relief, and just as he was about to lay back down and resume sleeping, another prick in the arch of his foot had him shouting, "Ouch! Bloody-"

"Good morning, John." Sherlocks passive voice came to him, but he didn't see him. He sat up, propping himself up with his forearms and found Sherlock at the base of his bed, strenuously focused on the doctor's feet.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John glanced at his clock on his nightstand: 6:45...a.m. On a _Saturday_?!

"I did some research and decided to test the affects of acupuncture on feet." Sherlock quipped modestly, examining the screen of John's laptop in his lap.

"Acupuntur- _Ack_! Sherlock!" John finally noticed his feet, sticking out from the sheets of the bed. Numerous thin needles stuck out from his soles and toes. He winced as he tried to wiggle his big toe. This explains the dream...

"Reflexology uses different sections of the feet to represent parts of the body. The tips of your toes represent your frontal sinuses...or your brain...there are multiple charts online. Though, I have to say frontal sinuses. A few needles to your toes stopped your snoring." Sherlock looked up again with a needle in hand, "What about the inner heel here, that's the bladder-"

John jerked his feet away quickly, provoking an annoyed expression from Sherlock, and sat up completely. He pulled his left foot closer to him, "Ouch! Bloody hell, Sherlock, you idiot- wait...where did you get these needles?"

Sherlock sighed and stood, "Right, this has gotten boring. I don't see the use of acupuncture as helpful to me at the moment, so what's the point? _Gah_, where's a good serial killer when you need one?"

"Sherlock, are these needles clean?" John winced and hissed through his teeth as he tried to pull one out. Sherlock sighed again, picked up John's laptop, and sauntered from the room. "_Sherlock_?!"


	2. Feud Over Breath

**Somehow I got an idea for this in my history class. I know it may suck, but oh well. And I may not update this or my other fanfic for weeks...I'm sorry...my teachers think we're addicted to homework. Thank you if you read this! Even if you hate it, at least some one read it!**

**I don't own anything Sherlock._  
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John huffed his way up the stairs, five grocery bags filled to their rims. A few days ago, Sherlock had thrown everything out of the refrigerator to make room for varying body parts from the morgue. John had visited his sister that week, and wasn't there to stop the souring milk and molding yogurt. So today had been a restocking day, in hopes these items of food would live to see their demise at supper.

With one final step, John nearly fell into the flat. "Sherlock?" He called, "A little help with the groceries, possibly?" A moment went past, and silence answered John's question instead of his flatmate. With the motivating goal of getting all the bags into the kitchen, he sighed heavily and carried the load a bit further. John heaved each bag onto the countertop, cursing Sherlock twice for each bag. When he finally limped out into the living room, lo and behold-

"John, you're back." Sherlock Holmes, sitting askew in his armchair, immersed in a staring contest with his dear friend, a skull, resting atop his knee.

"Did you not hear me call for you?" John accused.

"No, I was too busy containing an enraged outburst upon your noisy entrance."

John huffed and cracked his back, still out of breath, "What?"

Sherlock tore his eyes away from the skull to glare fiercely at the doctor, "There hasn't been a case in 2 months. Everything is setting me off. Everything makes me want to set London ablaze. I'm going mad, John!"

John snorted, "As if you weren't already." He sat down as Sherlock growled and hurled a nearby coaster at the wall. Sherlock stood abruptly, rigid and tense. John relaxed into the couch, taking deep breaths to slow his heart rate. A moment passed.

"Why are you breathing so loud?!" Sherlock demanded suddenly.

John, having dozed off slightly, jumped, "Wha?"

"Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"Breathing. Loud!"

"I'm just breathing, Sher-"

"Why?! Just stop!"

The two men stared for a moment, John confused and Sherlock annoyed beyond belief. When the silence had settled in, Sherlock sat in his arm chair, his eyes still wild as his mind raced. An uncomfortable silence dragged on, as do most silences after a loud exchange, John couldn't take anymore, and he let out a expelled a stale breath he'd actually been holding. Sherlock through up his hands in disbelief, "Oh for Heaven's sake, John!"

And with that Sherlock stormed out of the flat. He slammed the door hard enough for the floor to tremble from the sound. And a grocery bag fell from the counter in the kitchen. John mumbled another curse.


End file.
